


Here At The End Of All Things

by wallflowerdalek



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:17:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowerdalek/pseuds/wallflowerdalek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What else are you going to do during the Apocalypse? (You should probably have watched to the end of season 2 to read this!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here At The End Of All Things

She wished it hadn’t taken them an entire lifetime to get around to this. It shouldn’t have taken the actual, literal, full-blown, fire-and-brimstone apocalypse for them to jump in the sack.

When she had asked him, as they lay on the floor, backs against the door of the cottage, knowing what lay outside, knowing there wasn’t anything left, bleeding and burned and bruised, “What are you going to regret?” she had expected something about Thomas Jefferson, or books he hadn’t read, or a scotch or something. Crane stuff.

She hadn’t really expected, “That I never made clear my intentions for you, Lieutenant.”

She had laughed and rolled her eyes and lips and shook her head. “Don’t start, Crane.”

He had taken her hand. His was riddled with cuts and scrapes and smudges of ash, and hers wasn’t better. His palm was sweaty (nerves?) and the salt stung the raw parts of her hand, but she didn’t mind.

“I have wished, Lieutenant, for so long—but the moment was never right—”

It hadn’t been. There was Katrina, that wall between them, and then there wasn’t Katrina, instead this raw gaping hole in Crane that she had wanted to fill—felt bad for it, holding him as he sobbed and wanting nothing more than to kiss his forehead and never stop kissing—it sounds romantic, but she didn’t mean it romantically, she meant it with a hungry lust that she couldn’t shake. You’re a terrible person, she told herself over and over, as she held him, hurting, and ached with lust.

And then Jenny had died, and she had wanted nothing more than to jump his bones and not stop riding until the emptiness went away. But that would lead to something bad, she was sure, and he held her through her sorrow like her grief would break her apart.

And then the end had come, and they had been so busy fighting, tooth and nail and knee, that she hadn’t had time to think of it. Only of course she did, somewhere in the back of her mind, she had noticed his ass as he fought beside her, could smell his effort when he came too close, could feel his heat when they were back to back.

And now?

She turned and looked at him, tall, even when sitting, and smiled. “I wish we—” the thoughts caught in her throat. Raw. “I wish we had—time. Something. I wish we had a whole other life, and a picket fence and flannel sheets. I—”

“Shh—” he reached over to her.

She pushed him away, as physically awful as that was. “But there’s no more picket fences and clean sheets. The world is burning, actually burning outside. And I’m done fighting.”

She crawled into his lap, her thighs pressing into his narrow hips. He pulled her to him with a neediness that thrilled her. Their kisses were fireworks and greed—she tasted blood and sought out the cut on his lip and sucked it, drinking him in.

She pulled away. “Crane,” she breathed, looking into his eyes, so close to hers, finally.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Take off your pants.”

It was so freeing to not go scrambling for a condom—she had always doubled up on her birth control, but now there was no future to protect. She’d never had sex without one. When she had lain Crane out on the floor of the cabin in front of the empty fireplace, the room already hot with the raging fire outside, she savored the heat—the closeness—of his cock, stroked her impossibly wet clit up and down it, as he gasped and writhed beneath her. She laughed at him, a uncontrolled, gleeful cackle, and slipped onto him.

Years of pent up frustration meant there was no slowing down. He gripped her buttocks with those hands she loved so much, and she clutched him with everything she had and grinded herself against him and screamed and sweated. They came together, riding as if it was the last thing they would ever do, and it might have been.

She lay on his chest, smelling like ash and semen, and closed her eyes, and felt at peace with the end of the world.

They both drifted off, and then she woke with the feeling of his erection agaist her thigh. She smiled and looked at him through lidded eyes.

“World hasn’t quite ended yet, has it?”

He glanced out the window. The sun had gone down, so the light was a dull red, the embers of the world burning through the night.

“We’re still alive, I think, so no.”

“Great.

His neck tasted like sweat and gunpowder, and when she bit down he made the most wonderful sound. She wrapped her fingers through his hair to hold him still, and from his reaction he liked that. She smiled into his neck, breathing against his skin. Somewhere deep inside there was an Apocalpytic terror, but her need quelled it.

“Don’t move,” she ordered, and he grinned that stupid, satisfied smile that he had.

She sat on his face, pressing her mound against his scraggly beard. “I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”

“I’ve been wanting to for nearly as long, Lieutenant.”

“Shut up and eat me, Crane,” she said, pressing her clit against his lips. He complied, his tongue eager. She rocked as he ate her, unable to stop herself from moving as the mounting pleasure ran through her. He reached up and stroked her nipples, gently rolling them. His mouth was magic, in turns licking and sucking and she came hard, her ragged screams tearing through the cabin.

She kissed him then, again, his face wet with her orgasm, his mouth tasting like hers, a taste she had always appreciated in her men. He was erect and wet, and as she kissed him she ran her finger through his precum, over the smooth, hot head of his dick.

“You’re excited, Crane.”

“I am,” he said, his voice a little ragged. “You are an exceptional lover, Miss Mills.”

She grinned. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She licked at his dick, teasing him. He shuddered, and she loved that she could make him shudder. She stroked his penis firmly, up and down once. Twice.

There was an explosion outside, but neither of them flinched.

“It would be a shame if the world ended before you came again,” she said.

“Ah—yes. It would,” he said. It sounded like a struggle. She sucked him in earnest, loving the taste of his precum, the sinewy pleasure in his body, his abs against her breasts, his face so close to her thighs, his hair tickling them.

His noises became urgent, and she broke away.

“You don’t come until I tell you to,” she told him, slowly stroking him.

“Miss Mills—” he protested.

“Crane.”

“Ah—yes,” he said. “As you wish, Lieutenant.”

She stroked him again, up, down, and then let go. She ran her nails up his pale, hairy stomach, watching red streaks form. He made the most exciting noises. She bit his hip, hard, and then sucked on the head of his penis for a moment before breaking away again.

“You’re going to tell me if you don’t like something, right?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Do not worry, I will tell you if I need you to stop.”

“Good,” she said. She twisted his nipple, gentle, and then harder. Bit one, taking it into her mouth, sucking it between her teeth. Found his clavicle, so bony, the skin over it so thin, and bruised him there. He moaned and bucked.

There was another explosion outside. It was closer—the cabin rocked, shuddered.

“Lieutenant—” he touched her hand.

“Crane.”

The playfulness dropped out of the room as the temperature suddenly rose. They both dripped sweat, her mouth suddenly dry.

Crane pushed himself up on one elbow, held out an arm to her. “Come here.”

She curled into him. He wrapped his long body around her.

“I don’t want to go—” she whispered.

He kissed her hair, the back of her neck, her earlobe. “Nor I, Lieutenant. After finding such heaven—the reality that I will be torn away from it is heartbreaking.”

The burning light outside intensified, fires flickering ever closer.

“Let me see if I can make it easier for us both,” he murmured, mustache tickling her ear. He lifted her leg and guided his dick into her from behind, and she arched against his long, slow stroke. “I love you, Grace Abigail Mills.”

“I love you, Crane,” she whispered.

"Do I have permission to come?" he asked.

"I guess."

He held her tight as they fucked. As they shuddered, losing themselves in each other, the world fell.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I went into this with the intention of making this fucked up or twisted, but in the end I just kinda wanted them to be happy. Which...okay, they both die at the end. IT'S STILL MOSTLY HAPPY RIGHT?
> 
> There's obviously something deeply wrong with me, and I should go back to therapy.


End file.
